As the economy seems to have everyone in quite a smiff, I’ve decided that perhaps I could contribute to the world’s misery by reminding you of the little things in life which are still lovely. I myself have had the good fortune of the sensible financial advice of my dear auntie Penelope and have secured my modest wealth in jam jars in a dry, quiet cupboard so I am not feeling what the newsreaders insist on calling the “credit crunch.” (Cleverly these jam jars are not in my own cupboard; therefore if they go missing as a result of a burglary, any danger and responsibility will fall on my dear friend, Alice Wintergarden.) However, I am appreciative of the fact that even people of good standing may find themselves in a bit of an economic pickle and therefore feel that they may be cheered by hearing something nice from me.
My first object of praise will therefore be the humble but essential glove (and by glove, I, of course, mean pair of gloves unless one has had an incident with a crocodile in Peru as did Auntie Penelope’s dearest old friend, Count Theodore L Theodore). I firmly believe that hands should be covered by gloves always, even more so in today’s economic climate. The gloved hand—-whether it be signing a loan application or extending a greeting to a tribesman—-is a symbol of respect. It says, metaphorically of course, that you are meeting a person who is, at the very least, an equal, and, if we’re honest (though it need not be acknowledged aloud), more likely just that little touch better than you. Therefore, when you shake a gloved hand, do so with reverence and ideally a dainty curtsy.
As I am a woman who lives by her word, I am wearing gloves even as I dictate this missive to my hired man, Christopher, who does both my bush trimming and typing for an incredibly reasonable cost. My gloves are soft white with two petite buttons at the wrist (gloves which extend up the forearm are offensive to both one’s eye and one’s moral standing). My gloves tell you, my readers, that I am a woman who knows who she is and why her hands should not be seen. I cannot think of two more important aspects of self-knowledge.
So while the newspapers continue to upset the apple cart with their disastrous foreboding, let us all sit back and feel proud and proper in our gloves. The news shall not dictate to us how we live our lives. Nor will it leave black marks on our fingers.
Chins up, dear ones!
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
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